


Relever le Défi

by orphan_account



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Battle of Pound Ridge, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Shooting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 00:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10321919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There was a brief mix of anxiety and hope curling in his stomach, the prospect of having the Head of Intelligence dismantled and injured in their territory ripening the potential for exposing some much needed information, especially that regarding Higday. The only challenge would be locating the man before he reached neutral territory down south, or worse, have stray Patriots pluck him up and leave the entirety of the raid useless.





	

**Author's Note:**

> All of the information was researched, and in all honesty my knowledge on the American Revolution is limited. Hopefully this serves as a rite of passage for the TURN fandom.  
> The relationship is more teased than anything, but I tagged it just in case.

Drenched troops were still parading in and out of Pound Ridge by the time André had arrived in on horse-back, sufficiently wet, though not as scraped up as some of the Lieutenants. The wreckage of the fight had been pushed aside on the streets to make room for the soldiers, the town mourning the casualties present with dry eyes. Their faces were outlined in a blood red, partly because of the dying sun, but also because of the Patriot house set aflame in the distance. 

 

A few men on the dirt path appeared to have been caught in the crossfire of the attack, their black cloaks matted with blood and ridden with holes. Some of the Loyalists had taken to dragging them away from the scene, though their actions were far from kind. The bodies tumbled in the dirt, the savage tugs nearly ripping the cloak’s fabric straight off of their backs. André would have reprimanded them had Tarleton not called him over that very moment, face beaming with pride.

 

He didn’t even need to hear his vain words to know that the battle had leaned in their favour - the evidence of the town was enough - but he humoured the lad with open ears as he dismounted his horse. The man’s cheeks were flushed with a fire of their own, words spilling out faster than his tongue could pronounce them.

 

“I’ve heard that Sheldon and his men retreated south,” André said, pausing Tarleton’s spoken thought at the time.

 

“My men reported such is the case. I’m not sure how far we’ll push them away from the Hudson, but we can hope for the best. Even though we were outnumbered our dragoons were able to keep them scattered after the initial raid, and that gives me hope.”

 

“I commend you on a successful attack, though I advise you do not let it get to your head. Washington’s men are known for their last-resort battle strategies. Even if we chase them far from the river there’s no telling where they’ll strike next, not with all this spy business they’re running.” André surveyed the Privates running to and fro the blazes, only four blue coats still left standing. They were being herded forward by a sea of red and brown, shoulders tensed and muddied faces twisted into contempt.

 

Along with the men in their care, supplies were also being raided from stocked barns, cattle ushered forward from the fields to the east. It would definitely relieve a crutch for arms and food, but would burden the army with slow baggage, a cost they may be unable to sacrifice. André grunted, turning away from the heat so that he could look at the delighted Tarleton.

 

“I trust you know where you’re taking all of this equipment.”

 

“Indeed. We plan to find housing in Bedford and then continue onto Norwalk when we’ve lightened the load.” André nodded, swallowing back the dull taste on his tongue as the stink of dead passed them by. 

 

“Major John André,” a voice addressed, interrupting Tarleton’s victory babble that was becoming increasingly more grating the longer it continued. The Captain that approached the two was leading a roan coloured horse that was streaked with mud, the animal’s walk cycle interrupted by a brief limp. The horse was clearly spooked, and when a round of shots rang out in the distance it nearly bolted, the sheathed sword hanging onto the saddle bags tapping its flank because of the jolt.

 

The Captain’s brows were creased, and in his gloved hands was a collection of crinkled papers, some bent at the edges. The ivory colour of the letters was still visible even in the waning light, though the familiarity of paper didn’t cover that it was more than strange for them to be given directly after a battle.

 

André’s fingers brushed the creased edges, bringing it closer to his eyes so that he could inspect the handwriting. Though the paper had seen better days, the ink was still legible, and no rain could skewer that. His eyes traced the cursive letters with avid precision before they finally reached the bottom of the letter signed by no other than Benjamin Tallmadge. His blood ran cold.

 

“All of them appear to be inquiries from Major Tallmadge, sir. There was mention of four others he’d written, but we were unable to locate them.”

 

He swallowed back his initial reaction and peered up from behind the paper’s edge. “They’re likely directly on hand. For now concern yourselves with inspecting the saddlebags if you haven’t already. Pull out everything that’s inside.” The man leaned into the bags and tugged out a small wooden case, which inside had nothing more than twenty simple guineas. Besides for the letters they were the only thing inside the bag.

 

André peered down at the letters, which outwardly looked so innocent despite the information on them. He shuffled them together then peered up at the horse, whose hind leg was lifted off the ground to keep weight off of it. The beast must have been close to the river to have collected so much mud on its body and mane, which would add up with Tarleton’s battle story. 

 

He looked up over the sea of men surrounding the growing flames, trying to locate the four blue coats that had been escorted through the town earlier. “His horse’s thrown him, so he couldn’t have made it far. Please tell me Tallmadge was one of the men you took prisoner.” 

 

“Unfortunately no. I could recall him riding beside Colonel Sheldon during the first wave, but once Major Lockwood joined the fray he went missing. Judging by what’s been written and the currency I can guess he was supposed to be engaging in trade somewhere north. He wouldn’t have been in charge of a fleet, and if he had, they wouldn’t have fought.”

 

Tarleton cleared his throat. “That would explain the militia that turned tail and ran when we first charged. Tallmadge was definitely there, but I cannot recount for what’s made him lose his horse.”

 

He turned to the Captain, who was still standing stiffly. “You. Did you just find horse now, or is it a spoil of an earlier fight?”

 

“One of my Privates brought it to my attention after he returned abruptly from a reconnoiter mission I had put him on. I delivered it to you directly after we determined the degree of security the letters housed.” André followed his pointed finger to see one soldier isolated from the rest, nursing what looked to be a bruise on the left half of his face.

 

“And it’s no coincidence that Tarleton just sent a force out to sweep the withdrawn soldiers from Lockwood’s fleet. He must have been trying to make contact, maybe pass the letters on. If he still has the remaining papers on him then it’s imperative we retrieve him at once,” André concluded.

 

André shoved the letters into the Captain’s hands, fixing him with a piercing stare. “Deliver these to Sir Clinton immediately, and get those prisoners out of here.”

 

He glanced over his shoulder at the looming forest, which only darkened as the sun’s waning light was blocked out by the nearing mountains. Finding a man in the silhouettes of the large trees would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, but circumstance had left them with no choice. The letters housed important information that needed to be recovered, plus the failure to capture a Major that had been under their radar for months would be a depressing kick to morale.

 

Tarleton looked ready to blurt out more nonsense, so before he could utter a word André had already clambered up his horse and pinched its belly with his heels to get it moving. There was a brief mix of anxiety and hope curling in his stomach, the prospect of having the Head of Intelligence dismantled and injured in their territory ripening the potential for exposing some much needed information, especially that regarding Higday. The only challenge would be locating the man before he reached neutral territory down south, or worse, have stray Patriots pluck him up and leave the entirety of the raid useless.

 

Approaching the man responsible for the shot, André caught a quick snippet of what wounds he owned, mostly those on his face. The red-haired individual glanced up, one eye swollen purple and the cheek on the corresponding side dotted with blood from a split lip that had been agitated. He was quick to raise his hand in a salute, though André waved him away with one hand, leaving the other to rest over his stomach.

 

“At ease soldier, I come with good intentions. I heard from your captain that you had a rather unfortunate tussle with a certain Patriot officer we’ve been looking for.”

 

“The blonde-one on horseback? If so, yes.” He tapped his side with two bandaged fingers. “I shot him in the side when he tried to ride past and it spooked his horse enough to throw him. He fell to the ground and the horse went running this way, which was all I saw before the bastard clocked me in the face. He’d disappeared before I could properly see again, so I stole the beast and rode back here.” André nodded to himself, letting his eyes settle on the men marching in and out of the forest, some still covered in blood.

 

“You shot him. So he wouldn’t have made it far,” André hummed.

 

He shook his head. “With a stomach wound? No. In hindsight I should have gone looking for him, though I thought the horse would likely be more beneficial to steal.”

 

“A well-founded decision, thank you. All I ask now is the location of the skirmish.”

 

The man furrowed his eyebrows for a second, then pointed a lone finger towards the monstrous trees. “Keep going straight and follow the river down the rapids. My guess is he was separated from Lockwood’s fleet and was trying to use the river as a compass, but that’s merely speculation.” He looked almost as prideful as Tarleton at his findings, but André pretended to overlook it. 

 

“Thank you Private, we’ll take care of the rest ourselves.” He nodded to the man in earnest. “Good day.” Tugging on the reins, he maneuvered his horse around the soldiers surrounding the witness and kicked it into action, letting his mind still process what had been heard. Tallmadge was a valuable asset, more so if he had other information on his person. Losing blood would only hinder his speed, and the dragoons employed to flush out any leftover Patriots still wandering about was also something to think of. The odds of him getting far were low, so why did he feel so uneasy?

 

“Tarleton!” He called, watching the man’s silhouette look up. “Send a couple men after me when you get the chance, I’m going after Tallmadge.” The black shape nodded, which was all the confirmation he needed. He pushed his horse into a canter and raced across the farmlands, mind held captive by doubts.

 

They needed him alive dammit, and there was no assurance he would get there first, or even find him for that matter.

 

The forest’s cold front was brutal, the gray colours melding together to make an ugly hue. He could barely keep track of the rows of birch trees flashing by. Overpowering gusts of wind met his advances with fury, the air slapping his cheeks and forcing him to keep his eyes squinted. Even the whistling noises in the distance had nulled to a blaring white noise.

 

The trails were an unlikely route for an escapee to take, so he stayed away from the carved paths and instead kept his horse galloping through undergrowth and tree roots. Every few lengths he’d duck underneath a low tree branch, or lean to avoid his saddle being wrestled off. Hands gripping the reins enough for his knuckles to turn white, he gritted his teeth.

 

Keeping an eye on the river, he let his horse follow the rapids down to the banks where the distance between the trees began to close. He kept his pace up, horse occasionally jumping over fallen logs and debris in the way, further jostling the rider. By now his ears had lit up a deep pink colour, the wind resistance chilling him to the bone. 

 

He was preparing to call it quits and circle around until his peripheral vision caught movement too jerky to be a swaying tree.

 

André was working solely with speculation, but he could bet that the lone man running as though the devil were on his heels had some ties to the conveniently sighted Patriot. The man’s body was cloaked in dirt and debris, braided hair flying behind him with strands coming loose with every step. Leaves were kicked up in the man’s wake, legs moving at a breakneck pace. 

 

The Loyalist felt the added anxiety in his stomach quell, and tugged right on the reins to steer his horse towards who he was assumed was Tallmadge.

 

Of course, though he was happy to see Tallmadge, the feeling was not mutual. Before he’d even come close to the Patriot the man had already turned around and spat some insult, muddied hair flying in front of his eyes to give off a rather feral impression. Beneath the tough facade Tallmadge put up were the few signs alluding to injury; the right arm wrapped firmly around his stomach, the bloodied nose, and the squinted eyes trying desperately to blink away what must have been agonizing pain with every step. The man made a valiant attempt to try and dash forward, but he would be impaired even if André was walking, let alone on horseback.

 

Since Tallmadge appeared to be unarmed, André found no issue in passing the man and then turning to block the direction they’d both been running in. It forced the Patriot to halt in place, breaths coming out ragged as his chest rose with visible effort. What should have been a pristine blue uniform looked to be in shreds, especially around the sleeves, and it was clear that the battle had definitely taken its toll. His midsection was the area of concern, crimson staining the white fabric above the wound and spreading downwards towards his abdomen. 

 

Deciding to take the neutral route, he swung his right leg over the saddle and slid off of his horse, watching the other officer raise an eyebrow at his actions. The look of confusion molded into one of agitation as he glanced down to see the pistol situated on André’s belt. If anyone would end up on the end of a gun tonight it would be him, and he must have been evaluating said odds as he moved back another step to put more distance between them.

 

“Tallmadge,” he greeted, “what’s a fellow like you doing in the woods after dark?” The Major’s eyes darted to the side, possibly scouting out an escape route. André rested a hand on his pistol, noting that while Tallmadge kept his eyes locked on André’s, he still tensed up, recognizing the threat for what it was.

 

Shot at point blank range was not the most desirable way to go, more so when you had information on you.

 

“You forget I’m not a child Major André, and I ask you not undermine me as such,” He said, voice tight. The man looked ready to pass out right in front of André.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my apologies,” he smiled. “Though you didn’t answer my question: what are you doing out here alone? Surely I could offer you a ride if you have need to deliver any information of yours.” Tallmadge sucked in his breath, holding it in as he pushed his shoulders back. If he backed away any further he’d hit the tree behind him.

 

“You could say I’m just passing through. I extend the same question to you. What would a Major of your caliber be doing here after a battle he never participated in?” It was a weak attempt to turn the attention on André, but he decided to humour the man, still careful to keep an eye on Tallmadge’s wound. The Patriot had been aware of André’s eyes wandering to there before, but now he was more defensive than ever, bending over to let his coat hide the blood stains.

 

“Thought I’d run by and see who was the soldier who assaulted one of my men so badly, though I can’t say I’m surprised. You always had the knack for showing a bit of violence when you met the end of your rope.”

 

“And you would know anything about that?”

 

“Actually I would. I haven’t forgotten about your little interrogation with Simcoe.” Tallmadge huffed, raking a bloody hand through his hair at the mention of the Loyalist. “As I’m sure Simcoe hasn’t either.”

 

“No, I suppose he wouldn’t, though it serves him right.” He looked up, catching André in the eyes. “He’s not the reason why you’re here I hope. We both know that wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

 

“I can assure you Tallmadge, that I’m not here with the intent to beat down an injured man. All I ask for is your cooperation, and I can be sure to supply you with mercy. Perhaps more, if you’re yearning for fresh bandages and a roof over your head.”

 

“By roof I can only assume you mean prison.”

 

“Oh but how could I do that to an honoured guest. I have been looking forward to a proper introduction since your rise to position, and now I finally have reason for it,” he chuckled, though lost the grin easily. “Let’s be sincere here Tallmadge, you’re the head of the Patriot’s intelligence operation and you’re bleeding to death in the middle of enemy territory. If I wasn’t,” he paused, clicking his tongue, “so  _ fond _ of meeting you, this might not have been such a peaceful encounter.”

 

“I find that excuse hard to believe. You want me alive André.”

 

“That would be in both of our best interests.” Tallmadge kept his eyes on him a moment longer, raking up and down his body before he made a run for it. Even while injured the young man moved like a jackrabbit, and André’s eyes lost the blue shape for a moment. It was no trouble to surge forward then meet the injured man with quick tackle before he could run any further, the impact of the blow causing the Patriot to fall onto his back with a thump. The cry that left his lips was nothing less than agonizing, a hand flying to the bullet wound in his stomach.

 

André wasted no time and immediately straddled the man, letting his thighs box him in. As a precaution, he used both hands to hold down the man’s arms, hearing the grunt as he did so. The right side of Tallmadge’s coat was left sprawled out on the ground, the inside’s navy blue only contrasted by a cream colour poking out from a pocket. The letters must have been moved in the rush to get out of the line of fire earlier, but that didn’t excuse the fact that the papers were practically screaming to be noticed, to be taken.

 

Tallmadge had clearly realized this along with the reality that he was more valuable alive, and the result was a sporadic scene of kicking and twitching, his back bucking up in a vivid attempt to keep André from the valuable possessions he held. The Loyalist was able to hold on, though with all the movement going on Tallmadge had been to turn his side enough pin his coat down and out of reach. André growled, using his right hand to pull Tallmadge’s hair back until the other man’s eyes blurred with tears.

 

Even after running yards from a battle he had actively participated in, Tallmadge still had energy to spare. His back bucked up, hips twisted as he fought André’s heavier weight. The Major was forced to dig his heels into the ground and lean forward to keep the man underneath down. A flurry of leaves and grass stalks were flung up with Tallmadge’s every kick, and André could already see tiny ditches forming around them. 

 

When André continued to keep his balance Tallmadge started to fight dirty, the distinct snapping noise being the first indication that he had tried biting. It took every ounce of patience in André’s body to not retaliate and mutilate the wound on the Patriot’s stomach. Surely it wouldn’t be long until the young man ran out of energy.

 

At that thought Tallmadge’s gasps for air started getting louder, and his kicks were dying in power. The bucks started to become few and far between, but the fight not once left his eyes. With his arms pinned above his head, it was a miracle he even had the leverage to push himself up, though never let it be said that André wanted his opponent to be no more than a submissive doorstop. The only thing that mattered was keeping him here until other men arrived, hopefully without him being required to shoot the already delirious soul.

 

“Such a shame you took Washington’s side throughout this whole ordeal,” André lamented, “you would have made a strong British soldier with your persistence.” He gritted out the last word in between his teeth as Tallmadge elbowed him in the side.

 

“I think I’d go stir crazy on your side, defect immediately,” He panted.

 

“Not with me keeping an eye on you. I wouldn’t let someone with so much potential out of my sight.”

 

Tallmadge spat at him. “Is that so? Trying to make up for lost time aren’t we?”

 

“You have no idea. I’ve been chasing your heels for months now.”

 

“What an obedient little  _ dog _ .” André released one of the hands holding his arms hostage and slammed Tallmadge’s head down.

 

“And since I invested so much time into the chase, I will be sure to read those letters of yours with a great sense of accomplishment. They’ll be the last you ever deliver, after all.”

 

“God damn you to hell André!” Tallmadge cried. He had been on edge the entire time, but it wasn’t until Tallmadge finally managed to sink his teeth into André’s arms that adrenaline spiked the Loyalist’s blood and encouraged him to act out. He’d gotten several punches in before he’d even registered what he’d done- not that it made much of a difference. The pale face underneath him was cut open, nose crooked and still bleeding.

 

“You know,” André growled, “it’s not too late. Quit your struggles and hand over the letters or I might just be forced to do something you’ll regret.” The man groaned, shaking his head.

 

“Thought you- you said you wouldn’t, ugh, beat down an injured man.”

 

“To be fair, I would have remained civil had you simply cooperated.” He looked up at the sound of disturbed birds, praying it was the men he’d asked Tarleton to send after him. Seconds passed, the only obtrusive noise being Tallmadge’s laboured breaths, and he returned his gaze to the young man with narrowed eyes.

 

“A shame that Washington’s most favoured Major will be lost to his own stubbornness.”

 

“You’re ah- so convinced that you’ve already won.” Tallmadge grinned, “which means you actually don’t know that much about me.”

 

André waited a moment, then returned the grin with one of his own. “That is where I hope to rectify my error.” He moved his hand to hover over the stomach wound, eyes not leaving the other’s. “Even in the face of death you remain defiant,  _ c’est charmant _ .”

 

His taunts seemed to provoke the opposite of a normal reaction from Tallmadge. Most women, even men, would soften under his looks and assurances, but Tallmadge’s eyes were cooking up a spitfire, his aggressions heightened upon hearing of André’s plans for him. 

 

Well if the scouts were going to take their sweet time getting here, then there was no reason for him to not take advantage of Tallmadge’s unfortunate accident before he got riled up again.

 

Without giving Tallmadge a moment to prepare, he forcefully twisted the man’s arms to the side so that he could properly get to his coat. It was still pinned underneath, but he was able to use his free hand to rip it out of place until the cream coloured letters were visible once more.

 

He tried wrestling the papers out from inside the man’s coat, though it wasn’t of ease with how Tallmadge kept lashing out. The spy was ready to protect his knowledge at any cost, and when André made the mistake of putting too much weight on his right side, the Patriot pressed his stomach down to pin the hand inspecting him underneath his weight. André pulled back to free it, and Tallmadge used this as an opportunity to roll over.

 

While André was incapacitated Tallmadge tried to get up and run to the horse, though it was evident he was thoroughly exhausted by his horrid wheezing. Even with the few seconds he got as a head start, it took little effort for André to keep up and jump on him to bring him back to the forest floor. 

 

“Stop moving Tallmadge, you’re just making this harder for the both of us.” Those beautiful blue eyes were on him in an instant, teeth bared as if to make a point. André merely scoffed, then thrust his left arm forward to press down on the Major’s neck. The beginning of a taunt was cut off and transformed into a cough as Tallmadge’s lungs were deprived of the air they desperately needed.

 

Distracted, André finally got the opportunity to pluck the letters free. The edge of the paper tore after being tugged loose from underneath Tallmadge’s arm, but they looked mostly unscathed from rolling around in the dirt. There was something to be said regarding the fact that they had been kept on Tallmadge’s person and not his horse, and André cracked a grin at the prize in his hands.

 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He said, leaning down close to Tallmadge’s ear so that his exhale would brush over the man’s skin.

 

He wasn’t expecting the knee jerking up to nail him in the crotch, and as a result, couldn’t help bending over to subdue the initial pain. Tallmadge met him halfway, bracing his forehead against the Loyalist’s as he wiggled out from underneath. Squeezing his eyes shut, André fought back the urge to curl up and stood up just enough to slam his boot into Tallmadge’s thigh.

 

The man hissed, but he didn’t stop himself from grabbing a hold of André’s leg to keep the Loyalist from moving backwards. Only concerned about the letters in hand, André wasn’t above kicking the hand away and crushing it under his boot, hearing the satisfactory scream that followed. 

 

Tallmadge must have realized there that it was going rapidly downhill, and that the lack of energy he had to spare would leave him with another bullet lodged inside him and leaked information. Even sprawled out on the ground as he was, he wildly kicked André’s shins, going for one of the only options he had left. The blinding sharpness that followed kept André winded long enough to overrule the sensation of something being jostled around his mid-section.

 

He heard the gunshot before he felt it, and the sparse cry that followed was the only reaction he could muster. The noise echoed through the trees, the recoil sending Tallmadge flat on his back once more. For André, there was a whiteness that had tainted his vision, all of the gray colours blending into one another for a brief moment. The only contradiction was the blue- the dazzling blue coat and the eyes of the man who wore it. They stood out so brightly, looked so alarmed, and even when the initial pain had retreated they didn’t lose their terrified expression.

 

Weak as he may be, Tallmadge at least had the smarts to take off running before the distant sound of hooves got any louder. Still clutching his stomach, he ripped free a few dainty papers clutched in André’s left hand, then backed away from the injured man. André’s horse was still in place, not bothered by the carnage, and with a kick of his heels the two shapes disappeared whilst André remained stiff in place. 

 

His shoulder was in unbelievable pain, the bullet closer to his chest than he would have liked. The position he had rolled over into did no favours, but it at least hid the scraps of paper André  _ hadn’t _ been holding in his hand, the remaining evidence. He cradled them close by as he counted the seconds before his men arrived on horseback to get him to a doctor, thoughts swarming in his pain injected mind. Tallmadge would likely escaped, badly wounded, but alive. The evidence of his work would stay there, unlikely that the owner would notice the majority of it missing until he had ridden too far away.

 

He stayed put until the horses’ hooves began to shake the ground and the night mist parted to reveal a few blocky shapes. The men’s expressions took that of genuine surprise before the lead rider dismounted and approached the Major.

 

“Sir,” the man said, “a-are you alright?”

 

“I’d hate to alarm you, but I’m shot in the shoulder.” He thought it was only fair he let a bit of bitterness leak into his voice, the man above flinching. “But there are more pressing matters. There’s an escaped enemy Major not far from here, whom I believe is following the Hudson River back home. Do me a favour and see if you can bring him back. Don’t kill him though, I believe he’s still got access to some valuable information we’ll need.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> "On July 2, British cavalry under the command of Colonel Banastre Tarleton attacked the escaped Tallmadge and captured his horse and some papers, including a letter from George Washington. These papers revealed information on the operations of the Culper Spy Ring. They were trying to capture Tallmadge himself because they knew that he was head of Washington's intelligence operation."


End file.
